


we never sleep, we never try

by Syster



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Blood, Choking, Feral Behavior, Jackson has a vagina and is very much male, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, harsh sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 00:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syster/pseuds/Syster
Summary: “I have a problem,” Jinyoung continues, just as Mark walks into his office, dimming the glass walls of it to an opaque, milky white and closing the door, “I have a regular, a good one, and he’s going into heat today, but Jaebeom is having a reverse reaction to his fertility treatment so I can’t do it. I referred him to you, and if you could take the appointment personally, it’d... be a great help.”or; mark runs a heat clinic, jackson has difficult heats and from there on out, there's just sex.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 21
Kudos: 70





	we never sleep, we never try

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suganeedsanap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suganeedsanap/gifts).



> unbeta'd.
> 
> in this work, i play with the idea of fictional stereotypes and prejudice against someone's second gender. this is in no way given the depth it probably should, but yeah.
> 
> title is from CRJ's run away with me.

Mark gets a phone call from Jinyoung just as he’s getting out from the backseat of his car, a cheerful ‘ _have a good day at work, Mr. Tuan!’_ chirped to him from the simplistic driving AI. He waves at it a bit disinterestedly, pressing his palm against the gleaming white of the metal to lock it before tapping his finger twice against the thin, elegant pod resting in his ear. _Park Jinyoung_ flashes in a non-obtrusive font at the bottom of his field of vision before disappearing again.

“Jinyoung-ah,” Mark says, nodding as he quickly clears the marble steps up the lush, green entryway of his company building, its sleek, glass surface gleaming in the light of the artificial sun, rising over the black-clad Homelessness Eradication squad doing their last sweep of the morning, “What’s up?”

“Mark-hyung, I need your help,” Jinyoung says in his ear, his voice slightly tight as he says the words in a lower register than usual, which makes Mark listen closer.

“Anything,” Mark answers easily, giving a quick nod to the secretary at the white, polished front desk, the young woman quickly going through today’s clients with trained flicks of her fingers, the profiles quickly falling into order on the large, holographic screen. She nods back with a soft smile, the spidery web of veins underneath the thin skin of her neck and face glowing white as she connects herself to the database.

“I have a problem,” Jinyoung continues, just as Mark walks into his office, dimming the glass walls of it to an opaque, milky white and closing the door, “I have a regular, a good one, and he’s going into heat today, but Jaebeom is having a reverse reaction to his fertility treatment so I can’t do it. I referred him to you, and if you could take the appointment personally, it’d... be a great help.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, “That’s it?” he says with a bit of a shrug, “Sure,” he slips into the tall, leather comfort of his chair, pressing his palm against the desk to log onto his computer, the holographic screens flickering to life all around him, connecting with a small buzz to his personal phone, “But why call and ask for the personal favor? Just refer him normally, they will pencil him in.”

“He’s... a friend,” Jinyoung says, his secondary vocal cords vibrating with the underlying timbre of low, alpha comfort, probably to calm Jaebeom, if the beta is high-strung on hormones, “His heats are difficult and hard to handle.”

“Most omegas heats are pretty bad,” Mark waves a hand dismissively, flicking through his messages until he gets to the latest one, the title of it marked in slightly less calming blue to mark it as urgent, “I’ve been doing this for years, Jinyoung-ah, there’s no need to worry.”

“He went through most of the heat clinics in the city before he came to me,” Jinyoung continues, and if Mark hadn’t had frontline seats to the absolute romanticism that is Jaebeom and Jinyoung’s strictly monogamous relationship, he almost would’ve thought Jinyoung felt something for the guy, “This would be our third heat together and I’m not _thrilled_ about shipping him off to someone else,” Mark hears the frown in Jinyoung’s voice, the voice modulator picking up all the subtleties and amplifying them for the listener's benefit.

“He pays that well?” Mark grins as he leans back into his chair, tapping on the attached folder coming with the message, quickly sending back an _i accept_ to the secretary so she can secure the appointment quickly.

“He’s a good guy, Mark,” Jinyoung sighs, “And his heats are difficult. Please, take care of him, okay?”

Mark shakes his head, but he softens a bit at Jinyoung’s tone. Jinyoung is young and has always had a bleeding heart, even when running a heat clinic. Every second omega that comes in for consultation says their heats are harder than others, thinks their aching need and burning want is somehow greater than any other. They rarely are. Mark can have sympathy for it, and he does. Sympathy is, after all, one of the reasons he runs this clinic. But he’s also a realist, and, well... It’s just that omegas, with their natural ferality and high-key emotions, seldom truly mesh fully into the calm of the sprawling cityscape of their colony. The feeling of not fitting in translates into them thinking they’re special, which in turn leads to the thought that, because of this, their heats must be just as different and special as them.

But that’s not the way it is, not really, even though they might feel that way. Mark has been running this heat clinic for long enough to know that one heat is just the same as any other. You’ve had one needy, begging omega on your knot and you’ve had most of them. One of the reasons he likes his job is the reliability of it, of knowing what awaits him every day. It’s a good stress relief and he likes to help people. So, Jinyoung’s warning mostly just feels like it comes from an alpha taking too high a shine to a sweet-scented omega, there is no way this —

He flicks up the file on his computer, looks it through, eyes the clinical _male, omega, 28_.

— Jackson Wang is any worse than anyone else.

* * *

Jackson Wang is not fidgeting, which is vaguely surprising. The scent of pre-heat hangs heavy in the air, but Jackson Wang merely sits back, his posture good but relaxed, not quite leaning back against the chair on the opposite of Mark. Jackson Wang is a man straddling the line between handsome and beautiful, with the delicacy of his features giving way to the lean strength of his body. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, and a black, finely cut suit with a high-necked banded collared shirt underneath, high enough to hide the no doubt inflamed rash spreading over his scent glands. His fingers drum a bit against his thigh, but it is not... fidgeting. It is merely the movement of a man made to move that has been told to wait.

“Jinyoung-ssi told me you were good,” Jackson says in a drawl. The suit is more expensive than thought at first glance, which means it’s good quality and without a brand, but what’s surprising is that he pairs it with gaudy jewelry, the line between good taste and garish gloating precariously thin.

“Jinyoung-ssi isn’t known for giving needless praise,” Mark says, easing his voice into the mildness he is capable of, trilling the lower syllables with a lot of comfort. He raises an eyebrow when Jackson just rolls his eyes instead of melting into the sound.

“He’s not,” Jackson taps his fingers against his leg and his breath hitches and — ah, there it is, the slight shake and shiver to his limbs, the pulsating warmth of his heat making his blood run quick and hot. He’s doing very good at acting calm, even when a slight tightening of his lips tells Mark that he knows that Mark can basically scent the way Jackson wants to present himself and be knotted, “Which is why I’m willing to test this out.”

“I’m grateful,” Mark says again, once more easing his voice into gentle reverberation, and this time Jackson actually snaps at him, sharp teeth biting hard around the words following with the motion.

“Stop _handling_ me,” Jackson snaps, baring his teeth in such flagrant disregard that it almost makes Mark snarl back. Jackson is openly challenging Mark on Mark’s own turf, even surrounded by Mark’s things in Mark’s office, which is at best _rude_ and at worst downright belligerent “Just fucking talk normally.”

For a moment, they stare at each other. Mark idly, for a second, thinks about biting into Jackson’s scruff and press him down against the floor, keeping him there until he acquiesces to Mark’s dominance. But that is savagery, and not at all the sign of a professional alpha, and as such, Mark just sighs and waves a hand.

“Fine,” Mark shrugs, leaning back, aiming for the honesty that Jackson seems to want, “I am good. I’m better than Jinyoung, probably.”

“Cocky,” Jackson mutters, lowering his sunglasses to flick his eyes down over Mark’s body. When his eyes land on Mark’s face, Mark merely smirks. He knows how he looks, which means he knows he looks good. He winks and smiles wide enough to show off the sharp edges of his canines. Jackson doesn’t, however, look away at that, which Mark had expected. Instead, he meets Mark’s gaze head-on through the sunglasses that he deliberately, slowly, pushes back onto his face. Mark carefully stills a burst of sudden instinct, his fingers twitching with the desire to remove those glasses and have the omega’s eyes fully on him.

“I don’t get attached,” Mark shrugs, pressing two fingers against the projected keyboard on his desk, pulling up a blank contract, and lets his confidence be spoken through calm, steady, action. He leans back and stretches out, displaying the long line of his body and the length of his legs, “It makes me a better alpha.”

“I’m difficult,” Jackson says, his fingers starting to move and trace and drum against his arm instead, and Mark gets the distinct impression that he would like to pace if he could. There is a brief pause, and when Jackson speaks again, his voice is dreadfully tight around the words, “I’m hard to deal with normally and borderline impossible during a heat,” Mark can taste the swell of hormones in the air, and would probably be able to sniff out Jackson’s slick right now if he tried. He doesn’t, because he is not a knot-headed pea-brain. But he _could_ , if he wanted to.

Jackson does not seem particularly fond of his heats, which is understandable. Omegas have heats almost nine times a year, and while it can be medically regulated down into a single day each time, it’s still a night almost every month, a night where they do nothing but beg. For an unbonded omega, it’s a thankless task, finding alphas willing to fuck you but not bind you, which is why those who can afford it, pay for it. Mark, a bit idly, wonders what Jackson did before he could afford expensive, tailored, and non-branded suits, because those gaudy necklaces do not speak of a man born into wealth.

“I can deal with it,” Mark says, shrugging, placing his hand on his desk, unlocking the authority to create a contract and sign it.

Jackson just eyes him and this time, he removes his glasses. His eyes are dark brown, clear and very sharp, narrowed as he looks Mark over. Unobstructed, Mark once again finds Jackson’s features delicate yet strong, the tone of his golden skin deepening with the impending, flushing blood of his heat.

“Okay,” Jackson says, after a moment of deliberation, as though he has any choice. As though his heat is not hanging around him like a shroud, waiting for the moment to fall around him, “Yeah, okay, you’ve got the job.”

“Fantastic,” Mark smiles, making sure to tick in the box for _short notice contract_ on the form that calculates the final bill. Just that little tick makes it all worth it because it’s basically going to bring in enough money for the entire day.

Perhaps it is unfair, that ruts are so much easier to control and regulate, but life is naturally unfair, and as such, Mark doesn’t feel particularly bad about it when he slides a touchpad over the desk, watching Jackson sign away any right to sue him for _lethal and non-lethal accidents_. Perhaps it is unfair, but mostly, Mark is grateful. He could not imagine being on the other side of the desk, pretending at dignity with the feral, greedy, and cruel promise of heat merely moments away.

* * *

“ _Off_ ,” Jackson snaps suddenly while digging his fingers into Mark’s shoulder. When Mark doesn’t move immediately, Jackson snarls and levels his elbow straight into Mark’s chest, forcing him away. The force of the blow makes Mark splutter, his breath stuttering in his chest as he falls back, his cock slipping out of Jackson’s cunt, a gush of slick and precum slipping out with it. Mark coughs, massages a hand over his chest, narrowing his eyes.

“What are you _doing_ ,” Mark hisses, blinking as Jackson bares his teeth, snapping them together in a deeply instinctual, feral gesture.

Jackson gets up from the bed, slipping from the fine cotton sheets on trembling legs, stumbling onto the floor underneath the weight of his heat. On unsteady legs, Jackson starts pacing along the room, his shoulder raised high and his pink upper lip curled tight over his teeth as he grumbles and swears. Sweat gleams where it gathers on the broad muscles of his shoulders while slick is staining his thick thighs, and Mark’s nose twitches, once, to scent the sweetness of it.

“Jackson,” Mark sighs, taking a breath to calm himself and start lacing some gentle caring trills into his next words, “Jackson, what is wrong, what happened, tell me —”

“Do it better,” Jackson hisses back, his eyes feverishly blank as he digs his nails into the flat, muscular, plain of his stomach, as though almost trying to reach inside and rip something out of him, “Do it fucking _better_ , what are you even doing, fucking me like that? It barely even fucking soothed me, you fucking —”

Before he can finish, Mark puts a hand on Jackson’s broad shoulder and digs his teeth into Jackson’s neck. He doesn’t break the skin, because a bonding is decidedly _not_ in the contract, even if there is more that goes into it than a simple bite, but the symbolism of it weighs heavy and is thus off-limits. But barely a second after contact, Jackson shoves him away, his grip like a vice as he presses Mark against the wall and bites _hard_ down on Mark’s neck. His teeth break the skin, and Mark snarls as Jackson pulls back, his bared teeth stained red and his eyes are burning with bright, ferocious anger.

Jackson is really fucking strong as he shoves Mark back against the smooth, white wall again, the blood staining Mark’s neck leaving an imprint against the stark, clinical sterility of the room. Jackson leans close, his breath smelling like copper and hard, angry, danger.

“Fuck me _better_ , you shithead alpha, or I’ll tie you down and _use_ you, like the worthless piece of shit that you are,” Jackson snarls, his hoarse voice deep and dark, carrying a lot of ill-intent in every single syllable. Jackson's voice is cruel and dark, even in the throes of his heat, his blood pumping so warm that it seems to heat the air around him.

In response, Mark growls, the sound instinctive and mostly involuntary, and Jackson grins, big and feral, at the sound.

* * *

Jackson’s heat is harsh, Mark finds that he certainly wasn’t lying about that. Each and every wave of it sets upon Jackson like a brand and makes him dangerous and feral. He snarls and scratches Mark’s back bloody every time Mark pins him down long enough to fuck him, his hand straining tight over Jackson’s neck as Jackson chips and fights for breath, his eyes still narrowed and angry. It is a fucking struggle to get Jackson’s shivering, hot body to accept him, and he only manages to do it for a moment, not even long enough for a knot to take.

It’s _insane_. Mark growls, low and deep in his throat, a sound he hasn’t made since he was pubescent and too young for the rut-suppressants, and Jackson hisses back, arching his back and digging his nails into Mark’s forearm until his nails break skin and Mark swears and has to retreat, cradling his arm to his chest.

He barely feels the pain, after a moment, as he watches Jackson whimper and gasp on the white sheets, his voice keening for an alpha but his eyes sharp, bright, and dangerous. He runs a hand over his chest, down his waist, slipping it between his legs and hisses when he slicks his stained fingers through the wet, swollen folds of his cunt, his fingers leaving trails of Mark blood behind. Mark has never been denied for this long and he tracks the movement of Jackson’s hand like an owl watching a scurrying mouse. Jackson does a half-broken sob as he leans forward, gasping underneath another wave of crushing want and need, his fingers gripping the sheets so tight the cotton might rip. Mark licks his lips, feeling the shiver of an answering heat stir underneath his own skin, settling onto the bruises and scrapes over his shoulders and back. He takes a deep breath, finds some fresh air underneath the sweltering, sweet scent of Jackson’s heat, and tries to center himself.

Water. They should get water.

He grabs a water bottle from the clinically sterile counter in the corner and holds it out for Jackson, who just snarls and slaps it out of Mark’s hands, his entire body trembling as he rights himself, rising up on all fours, his lip curled high over his teeth. As he moves, another gush of slick and pre-cum slide down to stain his thighs. Mark’s nose flares, taking in the scent, his eyes narrowing as he watches Jackson crouch low on the bed.

“You need to drink,” Mark says, the thin sliver of calming vibrations to his voice barely there, even though he’s really trying for them.

“Make me,” Jackson growls, snarling the words low and dark in the back of his throat, “Fucking make me, you fucking shit —”

Mark unscrews the bottle, drinks some of it before lunging forward to grab Jackson and flip him over on his back. Mark keeps his scratched up forearm pressed hard against Jackson’s heaving chest before forcing their lips together, transferring the water into Jackson’s mouth. Jackson sputters, spits, and bites down hard on Mark’s bottom lip before shoving Mark away, but this time Mark is prepared, pulling Jackson with him, wrestling him down onto the floor, his entire body straining with the effort to hold the shorter, but broader, man down. He twists one of Jackson’s arms behind his back, which makes Jackson hiss and Mark feels something wild settle into him as he sees the contour of the feral grin on Jackson’s face as he spreads his legs, bows his back into a low, begging arch.

“Fuck me, alpha,” Jackson growls, the words catching on his teeth, rolling over his tongue, “C’mon, fuck me, fuck me _right_ , do it —”

Mark slides his cock between Jackson’s legs, between the lips of his plump, wet cunt and Jackson gasps as Mark enters him again, thrusts himself to the hilt with one, hard thrust. Jackson’s entire body bows with the thrust, his thighs trembling as he eggs Mark on, struggling against his grip while begging to be fucked harder, taken harsher, given _more_.

As Mark leans forward, gasping a low growl against Jackson’s broad shoulder, driving himself hard and deep into Jackson’s clenching heat, he already knows that Jackson won’t let Mark knot him. Not yet.

The thought lingers and for some reason, it _festers_.

* * *

The muscles of Mark’s forearm flex, his grip tightening around Jackson’s throat. Mark is baring his teeth, his sharp canines visible in a shameless display of power and his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Jackson is gasping for air, drool spilling from the corner of his blood-bitten mouth, his eyelashes fluttering as he clenches tight and wet around Mark’s cock.

He thinks of nothing except holding Jackson down and the thrill that comes with using every single ounce of strength in his body to do it. Jackson is fighting him even now, gasping and clenching, scratching and biting, his hoarse voice a low, angry snarl.

“I am gonna knot you,” Mark growls, his voice so low he can barely recognize it, panted out between the harsh, sharp edges of his teeth, “I am gonna fucking knot you, and you will have to keep fucking _still_ —”

Jackson keens, and for a short, frantic second, Mark thinks he has _won_ , his blood heating at the submission, at the timbre of Jackson’s hoarse voice breaking over the sobbing sound. But then Jackson bucks his hips, using the strength of his core and thick legs to flip them around, breaking Mark’s hold on his throat with the strike of a well-aimed elbow. He flips them around, Mark’s cock slipping out of him, and Jackson grinds down against it, the slick lips of his cunt almost feverishly warm against Mark’s aching, hard cock.

“Fuck _off,_ ” Jackson snarls, baring the pearl white of his teeth, his eyes narrowed and his hair matted over his forehead with sweat, leaning forward to press his forearm against Mark’s neck, his curling snarl morphing into a dangerous grin as Mark’s growl catch on a strained breath.

* * *

Jackson is gasping into Mark’s ear, soft pants, and hitched breaths, his body bowing and bending against and into Mark’s thrusts, seemingly shaping himself around Mark’s cock. Each little sound that falls from Jackson’s split, broken and swollen lips, Mark feels ripple along his spine to be answered by his own hoarse, low, gasps.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —” Jackson whines, his mouth open in a wet whimpering gasp. Mark, his body straining with the effort to keep Jackson pushed down, to keep the relentless pace that has Jackson begging and arching underneath him, looks at Jackson, at the pretty turn of his jaw and the strong line of his neck. He’s so pretty, Mark thinks, rumbling a sound in a cross between a pleased coo and a low, feral kind of snarl, and Jackson just shivers, clenching down around Mark’s cock in response. When Jackson’s breath starts to stagger, his hoarse whines climbing higher, Mark pants and teeths against Jackson’s neck, licking over the agitated skin which makes Jackson’s entire golden and lean-muscled body tense into a lovely, begging arch.

Mark gives a hard, rolling thrust and Jackson rakes his nails down Mark’s neck, over his shoulders, two fingers digging into the scent-gland behind Mark’s ear, burrowing into the sensitive skin to release more of Mark’s dark, sweltering scent, his own heat-driven hormones layering into the air to match it.

There is a low, inoffensive yet unmistakable little buzz as the edge of Jackson’s left pupil suddenly flares into calming blue. Mark grinds his hips down, rolls them hard enough to make Jackson feel the stretch of his cock against the abused warmth of his cunt.

“Wait —” Jackson groans, one hand flailing as he starts to trace along his jaw to put the incoming phone call on hold, “Wait, I blocked all non-emergency calls, my company must —”

It’s a reasonable request. Mark _should_ probably listen to it.

Despite this, Mark merely bares his teeth, grabbing Jackson’s hand, gripping tight around his wrist, slamming it down against the floor, above the finely-knitted blanket they’ve been fucking on for what feels like hours.

“Look at me,” Mark snarls, curling the harsh, low words over his tongue as his other hand grabs Jackson’s jaw, forcing it to tilt and look straight at Jackson, “ _Look_ at me,” he repeats, crowding closer, grinding his hips in hard, purposeful thrusts.

Jackson’s pupils blow wide, his brown eyes so dark they almost seem black and his gaze focuses, his jaw slackens, and he looks at Mark, and nowhere else.

The pleasure of Jackson’s gaze focused on him bursts through Mark’s blood, grips into the deep and darkest parts of him and pulls them to the forefront, baring them to the clinical white walls, to the soothing music playing in the background and to the general trappings of a society in deep denial of its feral roots. He doesn’t care, Mark doesn’t _care_ , he wants and he craves and he _aches_. Jackson is soft and tight and wet, but most importantly, he is _strong_ and has finally bent underneath Mark’s dominance and the thrill, the joy, of that makes a wild, deep purr start to vibrate deep in Mark’s chest.

“Alpha,” Jackson coos, locking his legs around Mark’s waist, pulling him closer, keeping him tight and flush inside his cunt, the muscles trembling and shifting underneath his golden, bruised skin in submission and mounting tension, “Alpha, c’mon _fuck_ me, do it —”

“I am,” Mark growls, moving so close that Jackson is bent at the waist, easy and eager for Mark’s relentless pace, and he leans forward, places his teeth against the thick muscle where Jackson’s neck meets shoulder, over a bite-mark that must be more than a decade old, by the way it is faded, and he bites down right over it, breaking skin, tasting blood.

Jackson’s body goes limpens at that, his hoarse voice keening as he grabs at Mark’s hair, pushing him closer, asking for more, even as he starts to tighten around Mark’s cock, slick gushing with each thrust, preparing for the knot.

Mark’s knot is large and thick, and it takes a couple of thrusts for it to breach Jackson’s cunt, no matter how slick or welcoming it is. Jackson mewls and gasps at the stretch, at the feeling of the knot forcing him to stretch wide around it, but he shivers, spreads his legs and takes it. When the knot pops, takes root, swelling into full size inside Jackson’s cunt, Mark feels deeply, viciously victorious.

With a low, hoarse whine, Jackson falls into mirth, into breathless, aching enjoyment, his hitched breaths and clenching cunt accompanied by his high, hoarse breaths of laughter.

“Yes,” Jackson gasps, his giggle breaking off into a low, pain and pleasure-filled groan, “ _Yes._ ”

He has never felt like this before, the aching pain of his body, the burning satisfaction, the deep-seated, ferocious feeling of _joy_. He thrusts once more, pulling Jackson over the edge as he starts to cum, his cock pulsing heavy, long streams of cum into Jackson’s trembling, tensing cunt.

 _Mine,_ Mark thinks, licking at the bleeding bite-mark, purring low and deep in his chest, “Mine,” he says, drinking in the sight and sound of Jackon’s pleased, relieved laughter.

“Yours,” Jackson agrees, his cheeks round and flushed with heat and joy, his eyes falling shut as he arches his back, forcing Mark’s knot a bit deeper, groaning and giggling as Mark’s cock releases another thick rush of cum, “ _Yours_ , at least for a while.”

* * *

Jackson finishes the phone call with a flick of his fingers, the blue ring of light in his eye dimming back down into dark brown, the tech once again hidden in his sclera. He is naked, sunshine-bright and golden-skinned, his thighs shiny with slick and Mark’s cum, dripping down over the inner curve of his leg.

“You could stay,“ Mark says, stretching where he lies naked on the bed, trailing a hand down to lay rest in a curl on the flat of his stomach. Jackson’s eyes flicker to him, and while Jackson probably doesn’t mean to, his eyes flicker up and down the lean length of Mark’s body, his movements stuttering for just a second. Mark, whose gaze has never been sharper, sees the hesitation and preens underneath it, shaping the pink of his lips with the sharp edge of his canine.

“I couldn’t,” Jackson sniffs primly, taking one of the complimentary wipes from the counter, his body shivering as he wipes the soft cloth over the sensitive, swollen plumpness of his cunt, “I have work.”

“You’ve paid for another three hours,” Mark yawns, groaning as he gets up from the bed, aching in every single limb as he pads over to Jackson, taking the wipe from him, bending down to help him clean up. He murmurs instinctually when Jackson places a hand in his hair, curling his fingers in the dark brown of Mark’s tresses. He wipes away the cum and slick, but there is too much of it to be removed without a proper shower, so Jackson will smell like him the entire way home. The thought is deeply, ferociously pleasing, and Mark looks up, grinning a bit as he rolls the wipe between the folds of Jackson’s cunt, his touch a bit too deliberate as he flicks the cloth between the fat and swollen labia.

“Stop that,” Jackson grumbles, but his breath hitches underneath Mark’s ministrations, and when he steps away, there is a shiver to his breath that only disappears with a deep breath, “I have to leave.”

“Stay,” Mark coos, rumbling deep and low in his chest, “Don’t waste your money.”

Jackson clicks his tongue, leans down to flick Mark’s nose, “You know what, alpha?” Jackson murmurs, tracing his fingers down Mark’s cheek, “Spend those hours on yourself. Treat yourself to something nice,” He grabs the bag with his clothes waiting by the entrance to the room, pressing his palm to the white wall, the AI’s gentle, melodic voice going _thank you for your visit, Mr. Wang, please don’t forget to fill in your customer satisfaction survey before leaving_ as the door opens with a soft, whooshing sound, “You’ve earned it,” Jackson looks back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “Barely. But _still_.”

Mark blinks and it’s only when Jackson has left, the door closing behind him, that he snorts in laughter falling back against the bed.

 _Jackson Wang, huh_? Mark thinks, licking his lips, Jackson’s blood still on his tongue. The coppery taste of it feels like more. It feels like something _deeper_. Mark should be worried, and he probably will be, once the heat isn’t thrumming quite as thick in his blood, but right now, at this moment, Mark simply can not bring himself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> so! this was written for andy who gave me a brilliant prompt about markson heat clinic with brat!jackson and dom!mark and i was like, lets fucking do this. the uh, weirdness is all me.
> 
> i tried doing something different with the premise and branch a bit harder into the universe, i'm not sure i succeeded but like, we're exploring things here.
> 
> i also leaned REALLY hard into mark's and jackson's arrogance in this one (especially mark's), which was definitely different from how i usually write them. and i tried something new with the like... more shorter scenes. i usually linger more in scenes, writing them longer (this work is 5k, and usually i write *one* scene being 5k), but i kinda liked how it turned out!!
> 
> if you liked it, please leave a comment!
> 
> If you wanna hang out and read prompt fills or little updates of my stories, please follow me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/syster19)


End file.
